


To the world

by Arejare



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, M/M, No one get's hurt everyone is fine promise!, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, after the apocanope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:26:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23173141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arejare/pseuds/Arejare
Summary: After a nightingale sang in Berkley Square and glasses were clinked to the world, an angel and a demon realised they really are on their own side and no panic would change that
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 22





	To the world

When a nightingale sang in Berkley Square and lunch slowly became diner, an angel and a demon began to realise that they had, indeed, survived Armageddon. And as this thought slowly trickled into their actual consciousness, it dragged a lot of other thoughts and emotions with it.

Forgotten was the light, relaxed mood when a feeling of dread crept onto them. Glasses were put down with slightly shaking hands, gazes were flickering back and forth and breaths were quickening out of nowhere.  
  
“Um,” said Aziraphale, eloquence in person in the face of that big, frightful ball of emotions right now dropping onto them, “I think… we should leave now… **_Crowley_**?”  
  
The last word was just slightly dripping in a layer of panic. Actually really impressive if you considered that said demon had his hands gripped so tightly onto the back of his chair and the edge of the table, that the sound of splinting wood crackled through the air.

“Ngk.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”  
  
A waiter appeared miraculously by their side and Aziraphale paid probably more than was probably appropriate[1]. But who cared, as they needed to get **out** immediately.  
  
The second their waiter left them alone, Aziraphale looked back to Crowley. The demon was still clinging to the wood and had started to hiss quietly.  
  
“Crowley? My dear?”  
  
If not for anything but the view of Crowley slowly loosing his cool led the angel focus to a calm determination in order getting himself and his paralyzed friend out of the meanwhile with more and more diner guests filled restaurant.  
The Bentley stood where Crowley had parked it, almost in front of the entrance.

_The car?_

But one quick glance at Crowley and he dismissed the idea. They have to make their way to the closest safe space he could think of – and quickly!

_Well, walking it is._

They just had to go down Piccadilly and up the Air Road and they would have almost made it home.  
  
_Oh, home…! It wouldn’t do any harm if I…? Plus it would be so much faster… And we are on our own now, aren’t we?  
_  
Aziraphale turned his head to see if anyone was paying attention and the next few steps he and Crowley made brought them much farther away than human steps ever could. So it was no surprise as they reached the bookshop merely a minute after leaving the Ritz.

Crowley still had one hand around the arm of the angel in a vice grip that, even on his resilient angelskin, would leave bruises.  
  
They rushed into the shop, bells tingling furiously after them. A couple more steps and they both collapsed side by side on the couch, hidden in the back of the eastern side of shop.  
  
“Grkl.”  
  
That was the first sound Crowley had managed to produce since the Ritz. Aziraphale frowned and looked worried at the demon.  
  
“Crowley?”  
  
“Angel…” The demon’s hoarse voice stretched the word.  
  
“I’m here, dear.”  
  
Now, in the relative safety of his ~~nest~~ bookshop, Aziraphale started to shake again.  
  
With trembling limbs he stood up, sat down again, shook his head just to stand up again, taking in a deep well needed breath[2] and then made his way on slightly less wobbly feet to the backroom. Heaven, if there was ever a time he was in need of some alcohol, then that time was now!  
“Aziraphale? Where’re you going?!” The sudden panic in the demon’s voice shot another hot glowing bolt through the angel’s body and nausea strangled his throat.  
  
“’m here… Think we will need this...”  
  
A second later, the quite chime of glass against glass and scuffling feet heralded the angel’s return to Crowley, a couple of wine bottles and two glasses in hands. Aziraphale wanted to put them down on the small table between chair and couch, but the table was still covered in books. Of course it was… With the feeling of a somersault in his guts, he let himself flop back on the couch, putting the bottles and glasses on the floor. It was very likely he would regret the decision later, but for now, it was the best solution.  
  
For a moment he just sat there, arms propped on his knees, hands dangling in front of him and his head dropped.  
  
_Breathe, Aziraphale. It’s over. Everything is over, everything is alright… Breathe…_

A hand sneaked to the bottles staying between his legs and the angel yelped, startled. This led into another yelp, this time from Crowley, who almost fell off the cushions. Both looked at each other. Surprised. Shaken. Wide eyed…  
Then…  
  
First a small grin ghosted over their features, mirrored in each other, followed by small giggle bubbling up, which then quickly developed into a full, utterly helpless laughter neither of them could contain, even if their dear life depended on it.

  
Happy tears ran down Aziraphale’s cheeks and as much as he swiped them away, there were more. Crowley muffled his laughter altogether with his head smothering in the cushions, one arm around his head, his other hand slapping on the soft surface. They couldn’t stop! It was hilarious! It was humiliating (because at some point Crowley started to snort and Aziraphale to hiccup!)... Oh it was so relieving!  
  
Finally their laughter calmed down. The angel dabbed his eyes with a tissue from his pockets, a last hiccup escaping his grinning lips and Crowley turned on his back, looking up at the ceiling, legs and arms sprawled where Aziraphale had left room for him to do so. A smile still lingered on his own lips.  
  
“We’re still here…” he mumbled in awe.  
  
“We are,” agreed the angel, a similar small smile on his face. He looked down at Crowley. The urge to take off the ever-present dark sunglasses hiding the demon’s eyes was overwhelming. Instead, he reached for the wine.  
  
With fast, practised hands, glasses were filled, one taken by the demon, while the angel kept the other for himself.  
  
They clinked them together. But before Crowley could take a sip, he watched the light shimmering through the deep red liquid in his glass while turning the stem thoughtfully. Aziraphale, his own glass already against on his lips but without having taken a sip, paused, watching Crowley instead.  
  
A string of unintelligible emotions ghosted over the demon’s features, each tugged at the heart of the angel. Once more he wished Crowley would take off those damned glasses, so he could decipher what was going on in his companion for over six millennia. Not that he really need to see his eyes. After all this time he was fairly good at reading nuances other would never even catch. Also Aziraphale knew that it was the same for Crowley when it came to himself. However, seeing Crowley’s eyes was such a rare treat, like offering amber pearls of Hunza and apricots dancing in a glass of Clos du Mesnil. In a stroke of madness he spoke his thought aloud.  
  
“Take them off.” Oh, that sounded so rude and nothing like he had intended, “I mean, please…? It’s just us. And… ah,” he sighed, “and it would help?”  
  
Crowley craned his neck to look at Aziraphale; his head was almost snug against the angel’s tight, copper hair brushing cream linen. A faint hint of leather, cinnamon and burned matches tickled the angel’s nose, as the demon was so close to him. The carousel of emotions paused at a puzzled expression. But then Crowley followed Aziraphale’s plea with a slightly trembling hand. He always did. Whatever Aziraphale would have asked, whatever he had ever asked, the demon would oblige. Not always immediately, sometimes a “not yet” and other times a “later” but never a “no”. It was a simple truth both knew.  
  
They also knew another truth. But this other one was hidden deeper and so much more raw in the open than they both would like to admit.  
  
But was he still too fast?  
  
“Thank you, my dear,” the relief was palpable in Aziraphale’s voice and smile.  
  
“Help what?”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“You said it would help.”  
  
“Oh, this… Well,” Aziraphale felt a sudden rush of embarrassment tainting his cheeks to a lovely pink. He took a deep gulp from his wine, ignoring the rich, dark bouquet and scent of red fruits and now avoiding the eyes he had longed for mere seconds ago. Crowley only raised an eyebrow, waiting.  
  
“I mean,” Aziraphale started slowly, trying to come up with something while going along. Everything but the truth.  
  
“I…”  
  
Heavens, why was it so difficult all of a sudden? He glanced quickly at the demon on his side. Curiosity and irritation glowed in the amber of his eyes. That didn’t help!  
  
“I think it’s best you put them back on again,” the angel huffed in his own irritation.  
  
“Angel”, the word was long drawn out. Softest velvet and a faint hint of amusement in the aftertaste. “What’s wrong?”  
  
“Nothing. Really.”  
  
Aziraphale started to fidget with the stem of his wine glass, still avoiding the demon’s eyes. Fabric whispered and there was a shift in the weight beside him. The light presence of dark hair against his trousers was gone, leaving an odd feeling of emptiness, that echoed in him.  
  
“Look at me.”  
  
_Oh, how dare he?_  
  
As helpless as Crowley was when it came to any wishes of Aziraphale’s, it was nearly the same the other way around.  
  
The angel almost emptied his drink. Quickly, far too quickly, really, and looked at his companion.  
  
Crowley had abandoned his sunglasses. They now lay between them. He had the empty wine glass in one hand (when had that happened?) and was holding out his other hand for the angel. Finally Aziraphale looked up into Crowley’s face, into his eyes.

Two golden suns, not menacing, but warm and welcoming. Two suns, burning hot with six millennia of emotions dimmed down to a soft glow, so as not to frighten, and a smile on the lips of a demon who had been everything in those past millennia: enemy, allay, adversary and companion, fiend and friend – and now…? They were so close to being one step further, well, at least to consciously admit to it, weren’t they?  
  
Still… too fast?  
  
Still… dangerous? Yes – but… Not in the same way. Not anymore.  
  
_We are still here! On earth! On **our** side!  
_  
One more heartbeat. Aziraphale could see how the moment was slipping through his fingers, how Crowley’s eyes would lose their golden shimmer and dim down to glorious amber, how his hand would slowly retreat and his smile, his so rare, so true and open smile, would crumble away.  
  
Oh, why is it so difficult all of a sudden?!  
  
And… so easy?  
  
Instead of taking Crowley’s hand, Aziraphale put his wine glass vaguely on the little table[3], not caring if the glass really landed on a safe spot to stand on, and with just enough of a delay to throw himself into Crowley’s arms. The latter had merely enough time to make a startled noise – he would fight everyone who would dare to call it a yelp – and to catch a sudden lapful of angel.  
  
“Ngk?!”  
  
“Shh…”  
  
“Angel, I…”  
  
“Shh!” This time more persistent and with Aziraphale putting a warm finger on Crowley’s lips, while the angel finally gathered enough emotion-drunken strength to lift his head and to face the demon, nose to nose, tilting his head to bring their foreheads together and let himself sink into the supernovae of Crowley’s half-lidded eyes. Then the angel’s fingers lost their pressure and started to caress over sharp angled cheekbones to curl into short copper hair.  
  
Unconsciously, Aziraphale took a deep breath and wet his lips with the tip of his tongue.  
  
Just a tiny slip of pink flesh and only visible to Crowley out of the corner of his eye, but it was enough for the tiniest whimper to break free and Aziraphale blushed. Oh for Hea – for **somebodies** sake! That was more than Crowley could bear and something short-circuited in his brain at that sight.

That’s it, he will lose his control (when was he ever **really** in control?) of this storm of emotions.

With a helpless groan he gripped his angel tighter. Oh, stars, never let him go! (Don’t let your hands wander!) He didn’t know if he was even **able** to let him go (Not after this, never!) but he was not ready yet to find out and so Crowley only tightened his grip, deepened his embrace and held onto his angel as if his blasted life depended on it (what it felt like it actually did, if he could trust anything in himself, it did!).  
  
Aziraphale was so soft – softer than he’d imagined – but oh, so perfect. Perfectly made to sink into, to wrap himself in angel and never, **never** want to live any second without that soothing weight he wanted to melt into. Safe and sound, his paradise, his angel.  
  
“Crowley…” Aziraphale’s voice was soft, too, but also had an underline of worry in it.  
  
“Are you alright, my dear?”  
  
“Y… Hnn, yes… I think so… Are you? I mean… I’m not holding you too tight, am I?”  
  
“ **No**! no, I mean, I… quite like it? I’m not too… hm… too heavy?” Aziraphale made a move to try to lift himself from Crowley, but he wouldn’t have anything of it and dragged him right back. (How dare…?)  
  
“Never!” Crowley brought his lips to Aziraphale’s ear and whispered: “You’re perfect, angel!”

And then he did something he never thought he would ever do. He had dreamed of it, yes, silly dreams of something that let him wonder if he maybe really gone **too** native. But he never imagined he would actually do it. Not with this meaning. There were habits between the human far back in history, almost a forgotten time and so long ago that it even felt for an immortal being like eternity, when touching each other was an expression of companionship that would even be unobtrusive among angels and demons. But today? He sat a butterfly-light kiss on Aziraphale’s temple. And although it was such a light touch, the angel let out a shuddering sigh and dropped his head on Crowley’s shoulder.  
  
So deliciously close… Crowley closed his eyes to savour the turmoil inside him, let it subside to a warm glow.  
  
“We’ve made it, angel… We really did,” Crowley whispered, his voice full of wonder. “Together…”  
  
“You doubted it?” Aziraphale turned his head, still on Crowley’s shoulder and had no plans to leave that spot anytime soon. Slowly he sneaked a hand up the other side of the demon’s shoulder and around it in an open embrace. His fingertips close enough to caress the nape of Crowley’s dark hair in a languid, almost dreamy and almost absentminded move.  
  
He could feel how this only half-conscious stroking made the demon under him shudder and tighten the embrace once more, after it had lost some of its grip over the passing moments. A little smirk settled in one corner of the angel’s mouth.  
  
“I… Uh…” Crowley sighed, “It’s not like I didn’t believe… or hoped… ‘s more like I didn’t expect it would turn out as it did. Not so… Ngk!” He hated the word, but if it fits… “ **good** … I mean,” he hurried to continue after he could feel how the angel on him started to snicker a bit, “We could have ended with eternal Hell… or He… I mean, it all could have gone pear-shaped…,” he ended lamely.  
  
“I still like pears…,” Aziraphale mumbled, remembering the last time he had said the words and even though he tried to change the fact, it still was true. They reminded him of the soft, flowery sweetness of another fruit, long gone, eons away…  
  
“Is that so?” A light smile tucked on Crowley’s lips.  
  
“Hm-hm,” the angel nodded his head, nestling himself somehow deeper into their embrace. He wouldn’t be such a fool a second time. Oh no!  
  
“They have some really good-looking Williams at Harrods. We could…”  
  
“I don’t want to go out, Crowley.”  
  
“Uhmm… wasn’t going to say that.”  
  
“Oh… What was it you wanted to say, my dear?”  
  
“Well… We could make a list… with stuff we want to get delivered…”  
  
“From Harrods?”

“Why, yes!”  
  
“They’re still doing it?”  
  
“Now more than ever… Customer loyalty and everything… one of my better ones. Additional nuisance for the workers there, more carbon emissions by delivery, angry customers at late or rotten food…”  
  
“Oh stop! If you want us to use this, then don’t make it sound so awful!”  
  
“But it’s not!”  
  
“Well then… let us call them.”  
  
“Online, angel, we can do it online.”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
Crowley reluctantly took one arm from Aziraphale and fumbled for his phone in his pocket to wiggle it in front of the angel so Aziraphale could see it.  
  
“You will see… We can do it from right here…”  
  
And that was the moment, Crowley realised, they were actually cuddling and lost for a second his ability to speak. He only could open and close his mouth like a fish, gaping and no sound coming out. Curious how brains work, especially those of ethereal beings who do not actually need one to think with…  
  
“Um, Crowley, are you alright, my dear?”  
  
“I- mm-ng Y-yes… yes, I am, angel. I am…”  
  
And **this** was the moment when Crowley accepted, that it was alright to cuddle with his angel… and that they would order those damned pears… online… and it would be fun… and everything was alright.

[1] The waiter named Tom was rather used to weird behaviour at the Ritz. Even more so after it became common to compensate for rudeness with money. Not that those two odd birds were in any way rude to him or his colleagues and it wasn’t the first time they had dined at the Ritz. However, this time the tip was exorbitant, even for them.

[2] Although of angel stock and thus not necessarly in actual need of breathing it had become a habit of Aziraphale to breath. It also made it much less frightening when dealing with humans, when one appeared even on a subtile level of consciousness ’human’.

[3] And the glass knew better than to land anywhere other than the exactly one single spot where it would not accidentally tip over or lose any drop of its book-staining content, when the angel opened his hand. Not to say that it suddenly stood on a lovely leather coaster as if it has been always there.


End file.
